


If just for tonight, darling, (let's get lost).

by Faustkomskaikru



Series: Fix-it [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, Clexa, ENJOY IT GUYS, F/F, I did not mean for this to happen but it did, I wrote sin what do you know, In love may you find me, My hands have slipped, They love on each other and really it's just nothing more than some loving, the Sinquel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:11:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faustkomskaikru/pseuds/Faustkomskaikru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is gone for a week, and when she returns Lexa greets her in a nice way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, okay. This wasn't planned, and I just kind of went crazy sinning away in one particular askbox, wrote a mini-fic, but the loving was just too good I had to make it a real one. I promised, and here is the due. I hope you damn well enjoy the hell out of it, because if you enjoy properly, I might just write another chapter. Promtps, ideas, headcanons? @ ifwearestrangers on tumblr. Thank you people for all the love on this story.

Things have been good, and peaceful. They have been for a while. Clarke can only be grateful for that, the hard days of the war a fresh memory that starts to fade gently. It's not a healed wound yet, but not nearly as painful as it once was, and the injury is slowly becoming a scar, resting unforgotten besides so many others.

She doesn't care too much for them, she doesn't wish for them to go away. Some she wished would have never existed, but what has been done cannot be erased and she'll gladly accept them as the foundations of the life they have built here. It was worth the fight, and when she looks up at the stars, a former home that have seen her grow, she feels like she can let herself be. Sometimes, she even surprise herself by thinking of the word happy, and, if she's being honest, she doesn't feel guilty as often as she once did when allowing it in her mind.

She doesn't dare speak it aloud yet, but, she lives in the hope that maybe one day, she will.

Peace was their goal, their duty, their fate. Hapiness can be their salvation, and it's on the tip of their fingers.

Clarke has taken full residence in Polis, she is no longer just a guest here, no longer just the Ambassador of the Skaikru. She's Wanheda. She's Heda's partner. People have come to respect that. It has been a trial, it has. It has been tiring, but after a few months, citizens of the capitol and members of the coalition were forced to see the benefits of her presence. How her leadership completed the Commander's, never overshadowing it, simply influencing in the right ways.

Lexa is glad for the change. She revels in the possibilities that comes with having someone you can lean on. With having support, and when eyes are not prying, guidance. She forgets sometimes how much she still needs that. And, in the quiet of the night, she often wishes Anya hadn't gone too soon. She allows herself again to mourn and grieve losses that will forever haunts her choices.

Her ongoing relationship with a certain blonde fiery has soothed some of that bitterness, the one nobody but her gets to see. She feels it in her soul, that this girl is the light on her path. The closeness, affection, and domesticness they have achieved over the course of the last year amazes her still. Never would she have imagined her life to feel so; _serene_.

There are moments of doubts. Living in a world like theirs is challenging, and there is still much to change. There are fights, and reminiscing of past mistakes, slipping accidentally from one's mouth, to prove an unnecessary point. There are moments of silence that hurt more than words. But those are lost in the sea of understanding, shared decisions, and supportive looks.

The physical connection is not something she expected, though. Lexa had been with Costia, yes. She had loved on her many times in secret meetings, hidden in her room. It had been good, and she cherishes those memories like a treasure, but there is no comparising. What she feels for Clarke is entirely new, and unique.

She burns constantly with a raging passion for the girl, deep desire. She feels an unfamiliar hunger for her body, the need to love on her, being loved by her, relentless. The eargerness to connect. And, in their moments of slow discovery, of frenzied touches, she feels like the intimacy they share is far beyond physical.

Clarke goes to visit Arkadia sometimes. Never long, when Lexa can't tag along. But this time, Abby had been missing her, and so she indulges and spends a few days away. They turn into a week. Lexa is going mad, and when alone at night, mind reeling and exhausted from all the Heda duty, she has nothing more to do than to plan how she is going to greet the blonde when she gets back.

And, when faced with loneliless and silence, she gets the luxury to _imagine_. And boy, does she have imagination. She thinks of all the things Clarke likes and what she wants to try, and do to her.

And Wanheda is gone for a long time. So the list goes on. And on. Lexa wonders if there'll ever be an end to it.

When the day comes, Clarke is shivering with anticipation, this is the first time they had been away from each other's that long. And Lexa had left her with a few dirty words in her ear, because she's sneaky like that. And Clarke's _impatient_. She marches the streets of Polis, feeling rested and excited. Soon, she'll get to be with Lexa again.

When she enters the bedroom, the low light of the descending sun is casting much like the day they loved on each others for the first time. However, once the door is closed, she founds herself alone, and wonders if the brunette's here at all. She doesn't see her right away, rather she feels her, behind her, she feels the air shift, and breath on her.

She feels the atmosphere tense, and she's torn between just waiting for whatever is to come and throwing herself at Lexa because she missed her. She settles for a compromise, and whispers "I'm glad I'm home."

And she is, Polis is home. _Lexa_ , is home.

And the Commander, breath ragged, uncontrolled, just takes her in, and says "Do you know how I missed you, Clarke?"

The blonde goes to answer, to say she does, to say she knows. Beg her already to show some loving, but Lexa's not done.

"Do you know how I thought about you every minute you were gone. How I thought about showing you just _how_ I have been waiting for you."

There are no sounds apart from those of heavy breathing. Heart thumping. It allows for the words to sink in, to be absorbed, and appreciated. The jacket on her shoulders is pulled off, falling at their feet, useless now. The returning Ambassador can only be grateful for the warming weather, and the loose tank top she chose to wear.

Next thing Clarke feels is Lexa's hands on her lower back, but she doesn't move. Somehow, she knows she can't. Physically her brain cannot order her, and she feels Lexa's authority even if she hasn't voiced it. She feels it in the tips of the fingers that trace patterns on her back, drawing promises of pleasure, fulfillment.

So she doesn't dare defy the unspoken command.

"Oh, I have tought about it," Lexa says, pressing closer but not nearly close enough. And Clarke loves the slow torture.

Hands are getting more consistant, they're touching now, more than brushing, and muscles clench under them.

The silence is loud, but Lexa's words however low, are louder. She's already a mess, she's already going mad with want-desperation, but the waiting is oh so good.

"I dreamt of all the ways I wanted to make your body crave for me."

Clarke wants to cry, tell her that her body already craves. There are hands that strokes her hips, her stomach, so slowly, so deliciously. She craves for more of that. They go up, stops just when they reach her upper ribs.

"Please," is the only word willing to pass her lips. She has no control, she can't think.

"Have you thought of this, Clarke?" The blonde can't breathe. Her legs are threatening to give out. She's shaking. "Have you thought about my hands on you when you were alone at night?"

Be strong, she tells herself. Don't crumble, she thinks. It'll be worth it.

"Did you pretend your hands were mine when you were alone and needy?"

Clarke nods at this, there is really no point in denying. There is no point in hiding her desires for the perfect girl that is shattering her soul, crashing down her walls to smithereens. She has a feeling that it'll only make things better, somehow. And she is not wrong. Because then, lips are on her neck, and hands roam bolder. Nails even claw the skin of her abs and she whimpers.

"Of course, Clarke, just like I did." And the button of the blonde's pants is opened, and teasing fingers slip inside, and her breath stop. The way Lexa says her name repeatedly should be forbidden, for it does things to her body she does not dare speak aloud.

For a second she thinks that this is it. Finally, finally, Heda will indulge her. Will _touch_ her. And she feels like she's about to receive the Holy Grail, like the gods above, may they exist, will cast the sacred light on her. But the hand stops, and she might cry all over again.

"Wait for it, Clarke, you have to wait for it." And she does, oh she has been, she wants to say. She's frozen, unbreathing, ready. It's insane. "I've waited for you for so long, and do you know how good it felt when my patience was rewarded?"

Clarke knows it, she does. That's why she doesn't move, hands flexing at her sides, "I have been good, and patient, hopeless at times, but it did pay off."

Heart beats louder than words.

"And I have missed you, I have yearned for you. Tonight, I get to have you."

The husky, quiet voice in her ear echoes across every inch of her. The unmoving hand, hot against her skin, burning, _lastly,_ moves and heat welcomes fingers.

Finally, Clarke can breathe again, seeing stars behind her closed eyes, her mind only able to think of the promises of pure bliss and love under the midnight hour.

But the night is not yet there, she has to focus on the now. The blissful sensation of Lexa's fingers indulging, but teasing all the same. This is not nearly enough, this is entirely too much. She's torn, torn between two feelings that are eating her whole, there is nothing she can do now, but throw her head back, exposing a willing neck to be kissed and bitten.

There is nothing she can do other than shake, cry out. There is a blubbering sound that escapes her, it vaguely resembles Lexa's name. Her arms trembles. She has to brace herself.

"Hold onto me," is said, but it doesn't just sound reassuring, it also sound.. inviting. Tempting. Devilish. "Hold onto me," she hears again.

When fingers enters her, slowly enough that she wants to just flex her knees to accelerate the process, she reaches behind her and grips Lexa's hips. "And when everything crumbles, I'll be your sacred ground."

The turmoil inside of her is grand, there is just too much pleasure, too much yearning altogether. The thrusts are slow, but tangible, teasing but fulfilling.

Lexa witnesses the scenery with rapt attention. She misses nothing, revels in everything. The way Clarke's neck throb with the pumping in her veins. The feeling of it inside her mouth, when she bites, sucks on it. The incessant grip of Clarke's hands on her hips, painful in all the right ways. The feeling of her stomach under her hand, clenching, tensing, clenching again. Clarke's moans, Clarke's breath, Clarke's insides. Clarke. _Clarke_.

She lusts after the blonde's lips, how she wants to kiss them, feel them. The knowledge that she has all night to do just that, and better yet, the rest of her life, is nearly enough to get her off. Or make her cry. Possibly both at once.

Behind the blonde's eyes a whole new world creates itself. Only Lexa exists there.

The abandon is both thrilling and alarming. Clarke has lost any form of control whatsoever, over her body, and her mind. She is lost, somewhere deep within herself and something so charateristically Lexa. Something is coming her way, familiar and unknown at the same time. She fears for what it is, but she wants to know. She tries to hold on to reality and prevent it from happening, she'll be lost forever if it does.

"Let yourself go, Clarke," she barely hears, though the words are right against her ear. The thrusting of fingers inside her becomes more forceful, more present. More substantial. They move faster. They are her only truth to this world. The only thing she can feel, experience, acknowledge.

Maybe, in the space of Lexa's arms, Lexa's safety, her free hand holding ever so gently her neck, her face, while the other, in contrast, starts to get relentless,maybe Clarke tells herself that she _could_ let go. She thinks she has to. Or she will die from tension and ecstasy.

"I'll be there to catch you." And it's the last straw, really, because, with these words, the almighty Wanheda, fearless and fierce, killer of many, ruler of even more, is powerless. She's doomed to accept her fate, and for once, it's glorious and bright, and good. Something snaps, releases, and waves after waves of elation, and euphoria, wreck her body.

It's compelling, and she falls. Litterally and figuratively. Litterally, she falls to her knees because her body is drained. Figuratively, she falls down the abyss. She feels like flying. She's falling, and the name of the abyss is love. It's endless and she will fall in there for the remaining of her days.

Lexa watches her, fallen too, holding the goddess in her arms, the true beauty that just offered her the view of her life. She will never get over it. She doesn't believe she got to witness something like this. So she holds her, murmurs thank you's to her skin, brush her hands over her skin, trails love over her while she calms down.

It takes a while, because what happened here was like nothing they ever experienced. But Heda is patient. Heda knows to wait for good things to come.

"Is- Why- I just-" And, really nothing is willing to form coherently. "Fuck." And her voice is hoarse. Screaming was involved.

"Something along those lines."

Clarke finds enough strength to laugh. "Oh God." Disbelief, shock.

"My name is Lexa, but I guess God is fine, too." And the feeling of the smirk, small and tender on the blonde's neck, will be the death of her.

"What did you just do to me?" And there is many answers to this questions. Too many in fact.

"I was merely trying to get a point across."

"What exactly was it?"

"That I am consumed by my love for you."

"Point taken. Very much, very.. thoroughly taken."

The blonde's head is leaning on the Commander's shoulder, still facing away, however, they're embracing now.

"So, would you say it was as good for you as it was for me?"

And Clarke wants to laugh at that, because, she thinks Lexa must have blacked out at some point if she even considers asking the question. But she doesn't, she can't, because she senses the vulnerability, she senses the doubts.

It still rattles her that someone who just gave her this.. this.. surreal experience, being so in control of herself, so sure, can question the blatant evidence of her efficiency. So she just turns around, still weak, craddles Lexa's face in her hands. And it's the first time she _looks_ at her. Sees her. God, isn't she beautiful.

Her face isn't pained, it's conflicted. She wants to hide the weakness. Still holding on to a little bit of pride. Face somewhat held high, but eyes asking and demanding. Clarke can do nothing but kiss her. Hard. It feels like heaven's gate have opened, like she has been granted a place there for eternity.

"You lived it, you already know." She says, confident, forceful, convinced. "I have never experienced something quite like this. Ever. Neither did you."

And Lexa nods. Once. In true Commander fashion, but Clarke can see past it, because she allows her to. And she kisses her again.

The kiss is a reminder of all the things that have yet to be done, all the feelings that are yet to be shown.

They make quick work of expressing all of them, drawing breaths and name's out of each other's lips.

When the night begins to take over and the light starts to fade, they realize: they never quite made it to the bed.

It's Lexa that gets up first, a bit cold and in desperate need for comfort.

"Where are you going? I'm not done loving you yet." Clarke says, laughing, getting up to run after her lover, who just throws a lopsided smirk over her shoulder. And both of them know. They tell themselves through light touches and kind kisses, that they never will be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke enjoys tying Lexa to the bed, and guess what, Lexa enjoys it even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you know, the saga continues. I know that I have a hundred other things to write but I have a major case of writer's block and this seemed to somehow get me over it ? I don't really know what this is. This is like nothing I've ever written and I went a little wild here. Well, oopsies.

There’s a warmth that comes with witnessing the first lights of the morning. A comfort. If you’re lucky enough, you might get to live one of these moment of pure contentment. Bathed in the soft ascending sunlight, looking over the other half of your soul, sleeping, at peace. Beautiful.

Clarke thinks the feeling might never get old. She’s used to getting up early. In fact, she always wakes up before sunrise. Reasons have varried greatly over the years, but lately, she found that she does it purposefully, because she just enjoys the feeling of the body next to hers, of getting to live another day, and share it with Lexa.

It doesn’t matter that she had little to no sleep, why waste time to sleep anyway? The exhaustion is very well worth it, and she will get to rest later.

For now, she’ll continue to appreciate the moment, live in the now, look at the draped body in front of her, and, she thinks, in a few minutes, she might just look with her hands.

The great Commander looks nothing commanding right now, her shoulders relaxed, laying on her stomach, vulnerable, trusting. Her back tattoo rises when lungs are filled with oxygen. Around it, golden skin is glowing yellow, and the light casts a thousand stars on her flesh. Clarke aches to trace them.

She will wait just a little longer.

Lexa’s face is not expressionless, there’s a hint of a smile, probably carved on her lips with the blonde’s mouth. She stares at it for the longest time, drinking in the sight of the stressless, satisfied and rare feature of her mouth. This time, she can’t help but reach out, and brushes her thumb over it.

There’s a sigh, and Clarke can’t decide if it’s hers of Lexa’s. She’s entirely too focused on the softness of a cheek beneath her fingers, sharp bones of a clavicle, where she can also feel muscles, defined and toned. She feels warm, and it has nothing to do with the sun rising.

When her hand flattens over black lines and feel the curve of a spine, Lexa hums.

“Did I wake you?” Clarke asks lowly, leaning over a shoulder to kiss this inviting skin, sun kissed, warmed, hers.

“Yes.”

And there’s no answer. Clarke leans again, and this time, she’s almost on top of Lexa.

“No don’t apologize, it’s okay.” She hears again after a few minutes of silence and more kisses. There’s no malice though. She hears the smile.

“Oh, I’m not sorry.”

“Really, now. Why?” The voice is still hoarse and husky from sleep, and the blonde loves it all the more.

“I have things planned for you and I need you to be awake for them.”

With these words, sheets are lifted, a leg is thrown over hips, and next thing Lexa knows, Clarke is sitted on her lower back, and there are places she feels against her skin that have her fully conscious and awake. And ready.

She whimpers already. Wanheda surely knows how to work her up in the shortest time.

“Please, do show me.”

What Lexa expects is feeling kisses on her back, words whispered in her ears, hands on her body. What she doesn't expect, is Clarke getting up from the bed, leaving her with a strange sense of loneliness and disappointment. She doesn't move to see where the blonde has gone. She trusts her. Yet, there's a warm feeling at the pit of her stomach and she is left dubitative.

There's noises she can't decipher, but soon Clarke is back, and her hands, soft and gentle, find her skin.

“I love your back,” she says, leaning down to kiss it like Lexa imagined she would minutes ago. A smile paints her features, the tenderness of the moment doesn't make the brunette forget about the tension, and the heat she feels at the base of her spine, where Clarke's naked body is once again connecting with her skin.

“I love how strong it looks, but how soft it actually is.” Hands strokes shoulders, now, and follow the line of muscles to finally trace arms.

“Did I ever tell you what your arms do to me?” She squeezes gently around forearms, grips. She tugs, gently raising them above the Commander's head. “Oh, when I see them tense, and bend. Forceful, strong. Decisive. It does things to me, Lexa.” Hands slips in hands, fringers entwine.

“Jesus, and those hands.” Lexa is gasping, eyes still closed, creases between her brows. Her mouth is opened, she doesn't know what to expect next. She knows, that this will be a revenge for the way she greeted her the day before. Sweet, sweet, merciful revenge.

“They're the epitome of tenderness, the meaning of affection, the messenger of pleasure.” She feels hips start to rock, she is loving this day already. She praises her choice to have requested a day off upon the returning of Wanheda. They need rest, they surely need a lot of rest.

“They are demanding and forgiving. Spoiling.” Clarke, already enjoying this, retrieves the long piece of red velvet, the one Lexa wears during official meetings, during wars, safely tucked into her shoulder gard. She wears it when she's in control, when she's Heda. Clarke, today, wants her to wear it when she's vulnerable and control is not hers to have.

“They carry your domination and authority over all. Always so commanding.” The soft cloth slips between the intricate patterns carved in the wooden headboard. “It must be straining, all this pressure, all these responsibilities.”

Lexa's heart is beating fast, she already knows where this is going. Or she thinks she knows. There's a gentle mix of apprehension and arousal. This is new, and unknown. Oh, Clarke has had no problem being in control in the past, Lexa glad to conceide her authority to her, to let herself be guided into desire, and pleasure. But this is a whole new level of trust she would be giving.

She thinks, when Clarke grasps her hands once again, lifting them up just a little more, that it's happening now. That this is it. But it's not, and the blonde is dragging it out, making it last.

“Let me be the one who commands, today.” She right out _moans_ at the words, eager to know what it's like to be commanded by Clarke fully and with abandon. Her voice is sultry and already ruling. She softens for a second though, when she asks, “Will you let me, love?”

Lexa's heart clenches, then bursts with infinite adoration. Clarke is asking for her trust, her absolute and unyielding trust, but doesn't she knows, that she already has it all? She trusts her with her life, and most definitely with her body.

“ _Beja,”_

There are kisses on the back of her neck, silent thank-yous, quiet promises of love and devotion. Fabric moves around her wrists, and is tied. She looks up, and there's enough of it between her hands and the headboard that she can move them, but still be restrained. She can turn around if she wants, but her arms are still stuck above her head and that won't change anytime soon.

Now that it's real, she feels an anxiouness that wasn't there before. Not because she is scared of Clarke, never, but there's a fear of the unknown, and she suddenly feels self-conscious, and exposed. Which is ridiculous, she knows that. She does, because Clarke has seen her countless times and in more revealing positions than that.

The blonde, however, can read her like a book, she sees the change in her breathing, the tension in her back, the particular way her fingers flexes over the red fabric. She knows how to read the signs, and instead of untying her, she knows she has to show. This is her chance to show just how deep her love runs beneath her skin, travelling endlessly in every fiber of her body.

“You're beautiful,” she starts to whisper, while her hands travel against the brunette's back. She kisses her neck, again.

“You're divine,” Her hands brushes her sides, touching the swell of breasts. She kisses a spine.

“You're magnificent,” She touches hips, waist, backside, she kisses arms, cheeks, clavicles. She kisses and touches away the nerves, the fears. She does so until there isn't anymore, until breaths of discomfort become gasps of contentment, then themselves become pleas for something more.

“ _Ethereal_ ,” Clarke whispers in her lover's ear, nips at the flesh she finds there, and from there, intends on changing the nature of her exploration of the body beneath her. It's hers, in that moment, frozen in time and singled out from all the others, Lexa belongs to her and no one else. There are no people, no clans, no kru. Just them both.

She leaves open-mouthed kisses at the base of her spine, traces her tongue over the two dimples she finds there. She works her way up, enjoying the way Lexa's body starts to squirm beneath her. Yes, she has been expressive in the past. Yes she has learnt to give herself over, to show her pleasure. But Clarke has a feeling that this will just be unlike anything they lived.

The very fact that Heda has accepted to rely completely on the trust she has for her, that she offered her body completely, her soul, without so much as the shadow of a doubt, is overwhelming for Clarke. She takes it all in, kisses every part of Lexa.

When she leans back, and looks at the brunette, she feels things she has never felt before, it's uplifting and empowering but also arousing, entrusting. It makes her love her lover more, if that's even possible.

“I love you,” She feels the need to say. She shift from her position, slips a leg in between thighs, and then another one, forcing them opened, leaving Lexa completely exposed.

“I love your skin,” Clarke says, resuming her kissing, it's tender but also hungry, she presses her tongue to the flesh she finds, she desires to worship that gentle soul, that mystical body.

Hands find hips and grips, claw, touch with force and determination. “I love how it feels, so soft and warm. Ready for me to touch.” She grips her backside, and there's a whimper, it's highly pleading. She knows them all now, she knows what they mean.

“I love your voice, sultry and efficient.” She finds a neck with her mouth once again. “Especially when it gives orders.”

She bites it, sucks it, soothes it. “Well, it won't give many orders today.” And to prove her point, she grips gently dark hair and turns Lexa's head towards her, whispers breathily but forceful, “Kiss me.”

So the brunette does. She's not one to deny such a request, and she's been dying to since she woke up. It's slow and sensual, a graceful fight of tongues and mouths. Lexa's back arches in response, and Clarke takes advantage of the small gap between her hips and the bed to sneak her hand there.

She touches her stomach, she touches thighs.

“I fucking love the way you move. In fights, when you're precise and sharp.” She claws at her back, drags her nails down the entire length of the muscles, watch as it flexes, curves, arches, responds to her fingertips, how, in their wake, hips move up and down, buck, search for friction she almost gave seconds ago. “And in bed, sloppy and messy. Desperate.”

Lexa's mind is going crazy. She's having a hard time breathing properly, gasping for air. Her body moves without her ever commanding it to. Then again, Clarke's the one doing the commanding right now, so it's only natural that it answers to her. She aches to reach for the blonde, she aches to relieve some of the tension that has grown between her legs. She loves the agony, though. She loves the yearning, the anticipation. She loves Clarke for loving her like this.

Every words falling from the blonde's mouth is fueling a fire inside her soul and her body is consumed with its flames.

“Desperately aching for me.” She hears, from somewhere behind her. “Are you, Lexa?”

Is she supposed to answer? Is she supposed to be able to voice things now that those nails are leaving red marks on her ass, gripping. Clarke must know, oh, she must know that she can't speak right now.

“Answer me, love.” And she ponctuates her words by sharply digging her nails into the soft muscles. Lexa moans, _loud_. And that is new. She aches for some contact, for some relief.

“Yes, please..” She wants something, she wants something specific, knowing where Clarke's hands are, she craves for it to happen but doesn't know how to voice it. Doesn't know how to ask for it. If she even can ask for it. She doesn't know how to ask for pain. Oh, god, this whole thing is driving her crazy.

“Please? What do you want, Lexa?” And the blonde asks solely to make Lexa desperate. The way hips are moving and body is presenting itself to her leaves no room for questioning. She revels at the way it shows its desires. This woman is a fucking work of art, magnificent and sexy. Clarke can't believe it's hers.

“ _Beja, Klark,_ I just- Hit- I need you to..” But no sentence falls from her mouth and she fails miserably at speaking her mind, both from embarrassment at her needs and the desperation that overtook her.

The words hang in the air though, and they both heard clearly the _word_ . It has Clarke pause for a second, assert it. It sets her on fire, just the fact that Lexa would beg for _that._

“No answer for me this time, Heda?” The very fact that the blonde calls her that, while adressing such a matter, has her clenching. “Now, we can't have that, can we?” And with that, she feels the hand lift from her body, before colliding again with the flesh, the smacking sound echoing in the large room for several seconds.

A loud whimpering gasp is heard, Lexa pressing her forehead into the matress, mouth hanging open, breath immediately stopping. Her lip tremble, her brain stops working. A blush works itself up her face, and she's grateful that she can hide in the furs.

“Again,” She whispers finally, and Clarke thinks she'll crumble at the tone, at the word.

“Giving orders, now?”

“Please,” And it's so pleading, that Clarke cannot deny her. Seeing Lexa in such a state is mezmerizing.

She indulges, raising her hand once again before letting it fall more forcefully than the first time, and she's rewarded with the sight of the commander tugging at the restraints, biting on her own arm, moans muffled by it, eyes closed so tight she's seeing white spots.

She soothes the area with kisses, slipping her hand down her legs. She will never tire of touching her.

“Turn around,”

When the brunette has regained enough brain function to register the words, she turns, coordinating her movements with Clarke, who repositions herself directly after. There really is not better place than between her lover's legs.

“Good,” says Clarke, running her hands over them, admiring, drinking in the features of the goddess lying opened and bare for her, hands touching hips, then ribs, landing on her breasts, playing gently with them, slowly and teasing. She leans in, close. Barely touching her lips with her own, she lowers her voice, “I want you to see me fuck you slowly,”

Lexa closes her eyes and gasps again. She would beg, oh she would. Please is ringing like a mantra in her head, but she keeps quiet and waits. She can do nothing to stop the canting of her hips though, the way it searches for these promises to be fulfilled.

Clarke kisses her neck, her breasts, spending so much time worshiping them, rakes her nails against her ribs, and she tugs relentless at her sash, the soft velvet preventing her from gripping blonde hair and urging her on. She's helpless. She loves it. She hears “Beautiful, so beautiful,” over and over. She feels loved, she feels desired. She feels out of this world, and it astounds her that all these feelings are created by Clarke, the girl who fell from the sky. It's ironic, really, that she's about to be sent to the stars.

She keeps her eyes closed, and the surprise of feeling a hand descends past her stomach and granting her with a first touch is that much more enjoyable. That much more _satisfying_.

It's teasing, she doesn't expect anything less. She wants it to be, while wanting so much more. Exhilarating.

It's soft all soft touches, Clarke doesn't wander around, and goes right where she wants her, but it's so soft, so slow, so gentle, barely there. Maddening.

She moans anyway, the feeling is powerful, however faint, however unsatiating. Her legs fall open, demanding, ordering, offering.

“You're loving this, aren't you?”

A nod is the only response Clarke gets. So she goes on, hand getting insistent, barely so. “Oh I do too, love. You have no idea how much.” She does revels at the slickness beneath her fingers, the pliance of the flesh, of the body, of the soul.

When she gets ready to indulge, when she wants to feel the girl more, she whispers, “Look at me,” green eyes meet blue ones, and Clarke enters her, with the same excrutiatingly slow pace.

Lexa exhales the air that her lover gives her, open mouth against open mouth, and holds it in for long minutes, where nothing moves and time has stopped. Fingers knuckles deep, surrounded by wet heat and substancial heaven. Clarke, too, is unbelieving of the sensation, when really, she's accustomed to it by now. But something about this moment is unique and new and it feels like a first time. It feels grand.

The relief is palpable, but it's fleeting and soon, Lexa is seeking more. She bucks her hips, franticaly searching for friction. The blonde moves, and grants the pleasure she has been yearning, but she wants it slow and lasting. She thrusts calmly but fiercely. With purpose. With determination. She keeps this pace up until Lexa's hips calm down, and match her rhythm.

“Keep looking at me, don't close your eyes,”

The thrusting continues, soft motion of her arm dictating the way she touches inside Lexa's body. What an incredible feeling, to be inside of her, to experience her in such an intimate manner.

For long moments, things stay like this, and Lexa is getting impatient, and greedy.

“You want more, love?”

“I need more,” Clarke needs to do something soon, or else she'll rip the fabric around her wrists apart and _make_ Clarke take her. “Faster, please.”

The blonde chuckles, mischief written all over her face. Oh she'll give more. She doesn't accelerate, though, if anything she goes slower, but harder nonetheless. She leans back, and without pulling out, without breaking the moving of her right hand, grab Lexa's leg with her left, and lift it. She lift it until it's resting on her shoulder, and leans in again. She holds the leg, and is impressed and grateful at the flexibility of the muscles, because she's almost able to kiss Lexa again.

The change in position allows her to reach _places_ , and Lexa is speechless, unexpecting, overwhelmed by how deep Clarke actually is now.

“Is that more enough for you?”

There's no trace of response whatsoever, the Commander at her complete mercy, unable to do anything other than moan, deep and long. She fights to keep her eyes open, and Clarke sees in them all the emotions. The surrender. She watches, fascinated, the brunette unravel.

She never picks up her pace, instead, she pushes deeper, rocks her hips against her hand for more leverage, curls her fingers, and touches with her thumb sensitive flesh. It does wonders, it's overly efficient. The last of Lexa's sanity vanishes, her walls crumbles and she begins to tremble.

“I'm so in love with you,” is all Clarke has to whisper to feel the clenching around her fingers. She, too, is overwhelmed by the feelings of this surrendering. She forces her way down until she can kiss Lexa as she comes long and hard and slow. They never close their eyes, and when she sees tears in the brunette's eyes, she cracks and some of her own falls and they know, they know that it's just beautiful.

They keep kissing and Clarke keeps thrusting, until Lexa says, “Stay. Again,”, so she stays, and she thrusts again. However, this time, she doesn't intent on dragging it out, when she hears the Commander moan and plead. She leans back, a leg still on her shoulder, which she kisses and bites, while she picks up her pace, relents all the pent-up tension, and lets it all out.

Lexa's screams only encourage her and it doesn't last very long. Seconds, maybe minutes, and the brunette is coming again, trapping Clarke's fingers almost painfully. They ride it out together, and when they're calmed down, Clarke collapses, the leg falling to her side. Exhausted and content, she tucks her head on Lexa's shoulder, before reaching blindly for the red fabric and releasing the wrists trapped by it.

Arms immediately reach out for her, encircle her, hands touches, greedy and denied.

“Kiss me, now.” She hears, while hands pulls her up.

She smiles against the other's girl lips, effectively kissing her, telling her silently how much she loves her with every brushes of her mouth.

“Getting confident now that your hands are free, huh, Commander?”

She doesn't get an answer once again, only kisses and thank-you's, hearing all the things Lexa can't say out loud.

When surprisingly forceful arms pushes her on her back, she is definitely glad that they have the day to waste away. She cranes her neck to welcome hungry kisses and look at the abandonned sash. She smiles and think she'll never look at it the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter might be Soft Clexa Bath.


End file.
